In a Mirror Dimly
by Wolff and Bergstrom
Summary: Ever since the ill-fated Outbound Flight Project, the Republic's been hesitant to push any further into Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. But the Senate has authorized a second exploratory initiative under the newly-formed Republican Exploratory Service and Captain Fonrui and his ship jump into an unassuming star system, only to make contact with an interesting bunch of natives.
1. First Contact

**A/N  
**_Just as a quick note about timelines; this story is not involved with _Crossroads _or the ongoing_ The Killing Grounds_. Both of those are awesome stories though (that's a rather unsubtle self-plug,) so go give them a read!_**  
**

**FIRST CONTACT**

_Unknown Star System,  
__Wild Space,  
__9 GS, (2150 AD)_

The RESS _Pathfinder_ flashed into existence with a shuddering flicker of light, as it finished its translation from the dimension colloquially known as 'hyperspace.' The energy transfer coils in the proto-plasmatic engines lit off, simultaneously radiating excess heat from the translation out of hyperspace and igniting the sublight engines.

Captain Dax Fonrui leaned back, propping his feet up on the console in front of his chair, sipping from a mug of caf. "You've got to hand it to the Maker," he commented to no one in particular. "He made some pretty little star systems out here."

A few non-committal grunts were the only responses Dax received. It was a decent enough system they'd just jumped into, but not exactly _pretty_. Pretty average, all things considered. It was certainly no Corellia.

"What's it look like, Thim?" he asked, cradling his mug.

Thim looked up from his readouts. "Eh," he responded. "A few gas giants, one habitable world, an asteroid belt. That's probably the most interesting thing—the belt might be mineral-rich."

Dax shrugged. "Natives?"

"Registering emissions from the habitable planet," Thim responded. "In fact—" he halted, studying the scrolling lines of Aurebesh. "Quite a few _mobile_ energy signatures throughout the system—ships. Three are inbound for our orbit." He looked up. "I think we found a fairly advanced civilization, Dax."

Dax nodded. "Catalog it," he ordered, gesturing with his mug for emphasis. "What name does the computer want to give 'em?"

"Uh . . . 'Veena-Adratas.' "

Dax snorted. "Cett-awful name." He took another sip of caf. "Naw, I hereby dub this system . . . Nlora."

"Nlora?"

"It's a nice-looking flower, I thought it'd fit a nice-looking system." There were more than a few doubtful looks from the bridge staff. "Oh, fine. I knew a girl named Nlora. Happy?"

"Very," Thim responded. He glanced back down at his readouts. "Those three 'Nloran' ships are still coming at us. Accel is pretty high."

"How high?"

"Nearly as good as a _Consular_-class running flat-out."

"Huh. Must have some good compensators." Dax sipped again, before looking at the empty bottom of his mug regretfully. "Computer done dissecting the planet's emissions?" he asked.

"About fourteen-percent done."

"Put the language matrixes at the top of the queue. I'd like to talk with them before they decide to take a pot-shot at us for trespassing."

"No arguments here." Even as Thim finished speaking, a light flashed on his console, and he blinked. "Uh. . . ."

"What?" Dax asked.

"They just broadcasted something—probably for us. Looks like . . . a language matrix."

"Well . . . I guess they're friendly then."

"Looks that way."

Dax sat up from his seat, thinking about the caf-machine in the galley. "Send 'em ours," he ordered. "I'll be back in a bit—I need some more thinking juice."

"I think we could all do with some more of that."

* * *

Captain A. G. Robinson, CO of the _Niven_, sat in his command seat without letting the back touch his spine. Sitting ramrod-straight for hours on end was . . . not the most enjoyable experience, but it was better than slouching in the command seat like _Archer_ tended to.

He snorted. He wasn't truly being fair to Archer. His friend might take a somewhat less . . . _strict_ approach to command as Robinson, but he was still a damned fine officer. He'd _better_ be a fine officer—he was taking the NX-01 out next year.

Robinson still felt an irrational pang of jealousy at the thought. The NX-01—even now, no one quite knew what the starship would be officially christened—was going to be the jewel of Starfleet, and every officer above the rank of commander wanted her for his own. But she wasn't going to be Robinson's. Archer had been selected to captain the fastest ship ever launched by Mankind, not Robinson, and that was all there was to it.

Besides, Robinson had the _Niven_. She wasn't exactly _NX_-class, but the older _Shenandoah_-class cruiser was good enough for a once-upon-a-time hotshot test pilot. And while the NX-01 was going to be in spacedock for at least another year, the _Niven_ had been completed over thirteen years earlier.

"Our guests do anything yet?" Robinson asked, watching the view-screen mounted in the bridge carefully, as the distant alien ship grew closer. She was still 40.28 million kilometers away, but the enhanced image on the view-screen made her seem much,_ much_ closer.

"Holding orbit, sir." The tactical officer scratched at a regulation-length beard. "I don't even think they've hit us with anything more than passive sensors—quite polite of them."

Robinson chuckled, before turning to his comm officer. "How's the Universal Translator going?" he asked.

The bridge officer grimaced at his captain's question. "The UT is good, sir, but it _does_ need some time to let things cook." He always got defensive about the UT. He'd gone to the Academy with the linguist who'd helped write the most recent incarnation of the software—Hoshi Sato.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No, I suppose not, sir," the comm officer granted. "It's ready, it's just a . . . little rough, sir."

"But we can talk with them?"

"Aye, sir—mostly."

"How reassuring," Robinson commented dryly. "Open a channel."

The comm officer worked at his console. "Channel open."

Robinson squared his shoulders, staring directly at the view-screen. "Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Robinson, commanding officer of the UES _Niven_. I have to warn you in advance that our translation software is still chewing on your language matrix—so a few words might be . . . questionable."

He nodded to the view-screen. "Robinson clear."

* * *

Dax sipped his third cup of caf, feeling comfortably wired. His metabolism was faster than most Humans', but he was still feeling the effects of the caffeine.

"Transmission from the Nlorans."

He perked up. Their own computers were still chugging away, trying to digest the Nloran language. At best, they had deciphered a third of it. He raised his eyebrows. "Really?" he asked rhetorically. "That was fast."

"I guess we can chalk up more efficient computers alongside their more efficient inertial compensators," Thim commented.

"I guess so." Dax straightened himself in his chair. He wore civilian clothes, in keeping with the civilian nature of his job, but he still straightened his gray tunic to look a _little_ more presentable. "Put them on."

The holo-emitter on the bridge flickered to life, as a two-dimensional image of a seated humanoid man grew to life-sized proportions.

"_Unknown cup, this is Officer Robinchild, commanding officer of the UES _Niven_. I must to warn you in beginning that our speaking soft-clothes is still chewing on your speech cast—so a few ideas might be . . . objectionable."_

The man nodded in the direction of the pickups._ "Robinchild transparent."_ The humanoid's image froze, as the transmission reached its end.

"I think we can safely take their 'more efficient computers' off the list of Things They Do Better," Dax said, once he and the bridge crew had finished chuckling at the . . . _interesting_ phrasing of the transmission. "How's our own translation going?"

"Well, our computers are dissecting their transmission—taking into account that they probably screwed up on half of the words—and we're cooking along just fine. Probably good enough right now to send an equally or slightly-less screwed up message."

"It'd be polite," Dax said. "After all, they said something—we should say something back." He nodded firmly. "Begin recording."

"Recording."

"_Niven_, we are in receipt of your message, and are under the impression that not all of your word choices came through just right. Nonetheless, we extend the peaceful greetings of the Galactic Republic, and heartily hope that this message comes through at least somewhat accurately.

"I am Captain Fonrui, master after the Maker of the RESS _Pathfinder_, and I am honored to make your acquaintance, Officer Robinchild."

He smiled, hoping it held the same—or, at least, _similar—_meaning to the Nlorans. "Fonrui out."

* * *

"Niven_, we are inside understanding of your air-song, and are underneath the belief that not all mouth-noise choices came through just starboard. None-of-little, we thrust the war-less greet of the Universe Nation, and heart-filled hope that this air-song passes between at less some-who right._

"_I am Captain Fonrui, god after the Architect of the RESS _Wayseeker_, and am honorable to make your acquaintance, Officer Robinchild._

"_Fonrui beyond."_

A. G. Robinson blinked at the message they'd just received. The distances involved meant that the messages took just over a hundred and forty seconds to be transmitted or received. Once the distances dropped to a more manageable level of lightspeed-lag, Robinson had a suspicion that their conversations were going to be very . . . _interesting_.

"I think," he said to no one in particular, "we'd better wait until the UT's done chewing on their language." He chuckled. "'Cause, I have some doubts that this Captain Fonrui is a god."

"Well, sir, you never know with first contact."

**A/N  
**_Please leave a review, if you would be so kind! Every little review helps me to hone whatever skill I have at this, and lets me know if people like whatever content I'm putting out._


	2. Two Nerf Herders and a Twi'lek

**TWO NERF HERDERS AND A TWI'LEK**

_Nlora System, (Sol System)  
__Wild Space,  
__9 GS, (2150 AD)_

Dax Fonrui wasn't sure he liked the taste of the locals' caf. It was strong and bitter. The grinning man who'd handed it to him had promised that it could 'float a horseshoe.' Upon tasting it, he didn't disagree, though he didn't know what a horse was, or how much one of their shoes would weigh.

_Barbarians,_ he thought to himself. _Ain't they ever heard of putting nerf's cream into caf?!_

Of course, they probably didn't have nerfs. Still. . . .

Noticing the expression on his face, Dax's host chuckled. "Starfleet Coffee," the man who'd handed him the cup said. "We use it to strip paint off a hull."

"Dear Maker, I don't doubt it," Dax responded, tentatively taking another sip. Bitter and strong it might be, it was still _caf_, and he was nothing if not an addict.

The man chuckled again, before settling down behind his desk. The language barrier had been cracked easily enough . . . all things tolled. It was certainly smoother than _some_ of the First Contacts Dax had been party to.

_At least they didn't try to eat us, like the Fabians._

'_Join the Exploratory Service! See the wild untamed frontier! Be the main course for xenophobic tribesmen!'_ He snorted at his own thoughts. _Well,_ he consoled himself,_ at least the Senate pays us well to be eaten alive._

"I suppose I should get some things out of the way," the man said. What was his name . . . ? For a moment Dax scrounged around in his caffeine-riddled mind. _Forrest._ _Admiral-ish bigwig guy._ "First of all, I should say that your arrival in our system has sparked some considerable _interest_ in the population—I don't doubt that the newsies are running rampant."

"Ah—that happens," Dax said understandingly. "This your planet's first first contact?"

Forrest chuckled at the repetition. "Not exactly," he said. "In fact, the Vulcan consulate is frothing at the mouth to meet you as well. . . ." He grinned. "And let me tell you, Vulcan's don't get worked up easily. But I digress:

"No, this isn't our first—" he chuckled "—first contact. We have official relations with two other alien worlds, and our boomers have been trading with tens of others. The reason I said your arrival sparked 'interest,' however, is that this is the only first contact we've been involved in—aside from the very first, with the Vulcans—where we _weren't_ the ones initiating contact."

"Ah, I see." Dax shrugged. "And I'm sure the 'newsies' are frothing at the mouth because they want to know where we came from."

"Exactly," Forrest replied. The second thing I need to get out of the way—and I've been instructed to do so by the Prime Minister, directly—is to ask you just what your object is. So," he smiled, "what is your mission, Captain Fonrui?"

Dax shrugged. "I'm a commissioned member of the Republican Exploratory Service, and the Service's mission statement is the exploration and charting of Wild Space and the Unknown Regions." He shrugged again. "We're not part of an invasion—I don't think you could get the Senate to agree to outlaw puppy-strangling, let alone to authorize an invasion."

"I see," Forrest said. "Well, that's good news. I guess we don't have to shoot you."

"I'd advise against shooting people durin' a first contact," Dax said. "Tends to complicate the issue."

* * *

All of the delights of Nlora—doubtful as some of them were—were laid before the feet of Dax and his crew. They were offered tours of ancient palaces, meetings with big muckety-mucks from every corner of the world, and asked to address Parliament.

"Nah, you can save all that for the diplomats from the Core," Thim had drawled. "We're just folks charting the not-so-wild frontier. Give us a little cash, and point us in the direction of a bar."

The men who'd offered up the highest honors and delights of Nlora had been slightly miffed, but Admiral Forrest had laughed and pointed them in the direction of the nearest bar—after slipping them a handful of whatever they used for currency.

"Not a bad little planet," Thim said, a mug of the local variety of beer in hand. "They didn't eat us, and they make good beer."

"I told you it was worthy of the name 'Nlora.' " Dax belched companionably, a bottle of what was likely to become his favorite liquor in the known galaxy in his hand. _Caf-beer,_ he thought, _now there's a combination I'd never thought of._

"Shut up."

"Shut up?" Dax asked lightly.

"Shut up, _sir_."

"Better."

The two laughed. No one had told them they'd been coming—thankfully—and the 602 Club went right on ignoring the two spacers. Dax shuddered to think of what the locals would have done to them, had they known they had two alien explorers in their midst.

_Roll out a red carpet, blow the fanfare, and offer up their virgin daughters, most likely,_ he thought._ I'm glad they're a friendly bunch, but I think they don't quite realize that _we_'re not the diplomats they should be pampering._

The Republic—lethargic as it was—might take a year or two to get a proper diplomat out this far, but they were bound to do it sooner or later. An invasion might not be their exact goal, but the Senate was surely interested—mostly due to the Chancellor's . . . _aggressive_ prodding—in expanding the Republic's sphere of influence in Wild Space.

Truthfully, Dax was kind of apathetic about the Republic's sudden exploratory drive. But charting systems for the Service kept him off of the deck of a freighter, and that was all that really mattered. Well, that and the job paying well.

_It'd better pay well,_ Dax thought. _A man's liable to fly into a star accidentally, in this line of work._

A pair of spacers—wearing those Starfleet-issue jumpsuits that served as uniforms—walked through the doors of the bar, and the crowd lifted their drinks and shouted a salute toward them. Dax had noticed that the bar was dominated by spacers, and that almost all of them were Starfleet officers or ratings.

"The Fleet's hero!" the barmaid cried out in mock-awe. "Bow low, dear friends, he draweth near!"

Dax twisted in his seat, and was surprised to see Captain Robinson—it was not Robin_child_, as the original translation had led him to believe—being slapped on the back by his comrades, while the man he'd come in with grinned.

"Anything the hero wants, he gets . . . for tonight, at least," the barmaid announced. "It's not every day one of our patrons makes first contact!"

Robinson glanced at the barmaid, grinning slyly. " 'Anything?' " he repeated. "How about you and me making 'first contact' when you get off tonight?"

"Behave yourself, A. G.," the barmaid scolded, her expression not holding any real indignation or anger. "Go find a seat, and I'll bring you and Jon a round."

Robinson and his companion began threading their way through the bar, avoiding pulled-out chairs and laughing patrons. Dax lifted his mug in their direction. "Congratulations on talking with the aliens, Captain Robinson. I'm sure it was fraught with peril—I'm reliably informed aliens are a nasty bunch."

Robinson blinked at them, obviously surprised to find them in his local watering hole. "Why thank you. It was touch-and-go there for a while—one of the aliens was under the delusion he was a god."

Dax grinned.

"Of course, it _was _a little lucrative," Robinson admitted. "The Brass gave me and my crew shore leave as a reward."

"Decent of them."

The barmaid walked up, carrying a pair of mugs. "A. G., Jon," she said in turn, handing them both their mugs. She glanced at Robinson's companion suspiciously. "And don't go thinking you're going to be piggy-backing off of A. G.'s blank check, Jon—you're paying for everything you drink."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jon protested, grinning.

Obviously not convinced, the barmaid shook her head and went back to work. A. G. unfolded the napkin that had been wrapped around the handle of his mug. "Hah, told you," he gloated.

"She didn't _really_ say yes, did she?"

A. G. handed his companion the napkin as proof that the barmaid had agreed to try for a first contact, while he sat down at the same table as Dax and Thim. "Hadn't really expected to see you here," he commented to both of the explorers. "I was sure the Brass would be showering you with hospitality."

"They gave us some cash and pointed us toward a bar—can't get much more hospitable than that," Thim responded, chuckling. There was a slight hesitation as the translator clipped to his collar put all of the words into the local Nloran dialect.

"Jon," Robinson said, as his companion sat down, "I'd like to introduce you to Captain Dax Fonrui." He grinned. "I just met him this morning."

Dax smiled, taking Jon's hand—some gestures seemed universal. "Well, consider us introduced," he said.

Jon smiled. "Staying around?" he asked.

"Naw," Thim said. "Figured we'd talk with your muckety-mucks, drink some beer, tell a few jokes, and be on our way." He looked considering. "Speaking of jokes, gentles, have you ever heard the one about the two nerf herders and the Twi'lek?"

**A/N  
**_Thank you for reading these two little drabbles! Please leave a review or comment, as every little review helps immensely. I wouldn't be writing anything except for the incredible feedback I've gotten from the fanfiction community. Please go check out my other two stories,_ Crossroads_, and its ongoing sequel_ The Killing Grounds_._


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